


The Unquiet Grave

by Shenanigans



Series: The Juniper Suite [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Feels, Gen, I have this thing in my head, Jason Todd is Hemlock, Look guys, Pre-Slash, and now you have to deal with it too, angst with a dubious ending, canon is a loose garment, dad roy harper makes me soft, roy harper is the best dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24684544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenanigans/pseuds/Shenanigans
Summary: Roy always felt like a rough hewn bit of cedar plank next to them, ruddy and freckled with thick stripes of pink scars and one crooked tooth that matched the mess of his nose. He'd given up being the pretty one, so he settled for being the fuckup. And when that almost killed him, he settled for being the loyal one.He looked at the picture, looked at where Jason had been and where he'd disappeared. Finding Jason was why he was here.Roy had always been able to find the target.
Relationships: Roy Harper/Jason Todd
Series: The Juniper Suite [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814866
Comments: 45
Kudos: 129





	The Unquiet Grave

**Author's Note:**

> I have decided to use au's as a way to write the canon I wish I could see. Consider almost everything from me in DC to be a what if or a large blinking fuck off to the current situations. I figure it's like mythology- I find the stories that I love and make them mine and let other people make the stories theirs too.
> 
> Also Roy Harper is the greatest person in my life even though he is fictional. TItle from a song my friend sent me to match the tone of this work.
> 
> And always, much love to my spectacular and unflinching beta: Chasing. Truly. A gift.

Gotham wasn't really his city, just borrowed and pocketed like change from a stranger in a bodega. It lingered, useless. Roy Harper was sitting on the edge of a building in a city that felt like a bruise. Roy Harper could smell an ocean, a hot stretch of sand and asphalt that soured salty over his tongue. He missed the cold crisp of his ocean. He missed the way a morning breeze would lick the pine scent from the old forests on the mountains across the sound to tip toe over his coffee cup. He missed the way everything smelled green and loose. Hell, he missed the rain.

Gotham wasn't his city. It didn't fit him right.

Dick had flown over the buildings, but Jason walked the streets here like they'd been poured for his feet, the scuff of his sneakers folding easily into the low bass thrum that rattled windows, that kept an off-tune melody with the brazen buzz of the everpresent neon. Jason was built for Gotham, broad shouldered and rangy with scars that matched the brickwork, the crumbling stone architecture and switchblades. 

Gotham fit Jason. Or perhaps it had just worn the boy enough that he seemed like the city's own loose pair of battered denim. 

Roy sucked his teeth, sniffing once before turning to spit onto the gravel roof. He rolled his shoulders, rolled his head on his neck, and flicked the button on his loud shirt before hopping to land on the fire escape. He didn't like to linger in melancholy.

He knew where that road led.

So, he smiled, fake until it wasn't, and clapped his hands, rubbing his palms before tapping the comm in his ear. "You ready?"

"Are you?" Grayson asked, voice tentative and curious.

"Born ready, Baby."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay, _Babe_." Roy winked at the florist van parked at the edge of the park at the corner of Bowery and Newtown. He waggled his eyebrows at the muffled noise over the line that was probably Dick physically rolling his eyes.

"Harper." Dick’s voice was hard. He was worried and it bled in clenched teeth that would pull his jaw sharp. 

"Fuck man, chill." Roy palmed the rail, vaulted lightly to land in the alley. He was in civvies, dressed for the job he was here to do. He needed to be non-threatening and normal. He’d laughed at the idea, but Dick had said please. Twice. "We'll find him."

Dick didn't call him as often anymore. Dick was trying something new. He was trying to be something cleaved from the shadow Batman cast over the city. Roy knew about fucked up families, but even he knew that Gotham did things to an extreme that nowhere else could touch.

Dick had called at four AM Roy's time, voice a hazy thing that meant he hadn't slept in too long. Roy was up and moving before Dick had even finished saying his name. It was how this worked. It was how this always worked. Dick got himself into trouble and Roy would reach in and fish him out. It was what they did. 

Roy did it because Dick had taught him how to be a friend.

"On my way, man. Just--" he'd cut off with a yawn that broke into his shoulder, trying to blink himself awake again. He’d stepped on one of Lian's ubiquitous toys, yelping at the sharp edge. "Fucking Duplos, what the actual fuck." 

"I wouldn't ask."

"You don't need to fucking ask, Dick. _Jesus_. We've talked about this shit." Roy pulled his phone away, swapping to speakerphone as he thumbed open his texts and shot one to both Connor and Mia that he was bringing them Lian. He’d send one to Dinah too, just in case. Ollie would have to deal.

Only Connor had replied, just a simple smiling emoji followed by the one for green tea. Of course, his little brother had been awake. 

"Connor's gonna watch Lian, so I'll be there soon. Just, don't do anything more stupid than you're already planning and for the love of God go to fucking sleep. I don't want to have to try to translate what passes for talking when you're a goddamn zombie."

"Alfred will pick you up." Dick hung up and Roy had done what he always did when Dick asked for help - he dropped everything and showed up.

Dick looked like a shadow of himself when Roy had made it to the penthouse at Wayne tower. He'd opened the door, blue eyes bleary and sunk into his face, and managed a soft desperate sound before Roy was holding him up, holding him and hefting him slightly to slide over the threshold so the door could close behind him. 

"You smell, bro." Dick huffed, fingers twisting into the fabric of Roy's t-shirt, and clung. Roy dropped one shoulder to let his duffel slip to thud onto the floor and swallowed. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up." 

Roy Harper wasn't a small man, shoulders thick with heavy arms and barrel chested. He wasn't Ollie's insane pull strength, but he was close. Dick was always built like an acrobat, compact and spare with narrow hips and wiry, corded muscle. He’d just palmed the backs of Dick's thighs and hefted him up, letting his friend wrap himself around him, clinging tightly. "Fucking octopus."

"It's been almost a week. We think," Dick had managed. "Maybe more. Fuck, Roy. Maybe more? Bruce didn't notice at first because he said he was coming to see me and he was trying to give him space and then when I called we realized he wasn't anywhere. Roy-"

"We'll find him."

“Something happened, man. I don’t, B is just. He won’t. I can’t do this, man. I thought he’d been getting better.”

“We’ll find him,” Roy had repeated, slipping his hand under the back hem of Dick’s shirt to rub his back, feeling the heat of his skin and the way he went loose and needy in the small flex of his arms and thighs.

"Promise?"

"No, you know I don't do that. But I'll do my best." He’d carried Dick through the penthouse, turning left at the long low slung couches in the open living space to a short hallway, toeing the doors open until he found the bathroom. He’d just walked into the shower with Dick fully clothed and turned on the spray, letting the heat relax the other man until he uncoiled enough to put his feet on the tiled floor and let Roy strip him down. "Usually it’s me getting thrown into showers, Dickie bird."

"Too tired to argue."

Roy had smiled, flipping his wet red hair back from his face and nodded. "I got you, but damn bro, maybe jeans that I don't have to take a potato peeler to next time?"

"Next time," Dick had repeated blearily, black hair flat against his scalp and swarthy skin paler in the water. Roy had probably glowed, but he just put one hand against Dick's sternum, pinning him to the wall and tugged at his pants. “I’ll call Donna.”

Roy had wrestled him naked, wrestled him clean, and wrestled him to bed. He’ settled into the headboard, letting Dick keep a hand on him while he slept and started reading through the files and reports Dick had scattered everywhere. The other man organized by instinct, finding things by feel, and Roy had been unsurprised when he found a theory scribbled on the back of an empty cereal box. All it said was:

_Roxy said she saw him going into Grant Park. Sheila Haywood?_

There were certain parts of Gotham that felt old and certain parts that felt ancient and almost eldritch. Roy knew that Grant Park was one of the latter, could almost feel the way the forest there seemed to know he was here, seemed to know he was thinking about it. Robinson Park was cordoned off while the Reservoir was being repaired. There were smaller parks, but the main two always seemed linked like the root system of an Aspen grove. He dropped a hand to pet Dick's hair idly, studying the blurry photos that a camera on a small convenience store ATM had managed to grab of Jason glancing over his shoulder at the low cement wall on the Western edge. He was pixelated, but the angry eyebrows and cut of his jacket never seemed to change.

He knew the kid; he had taken him out to the desert when Dick asked back when Jason had first shown up. He'd taught him some chords on the guitar and let the city kid stare at the sky. He didn't look like Dick, just a passing similarity in the dark hair and startling blue eyes. Dick was swarthy, olive tones and rich black hair, thick eyebrows, and deep navy blue eyes. Dick was perpetual motion, a swing of hips, an easy arm, a charming helpless sort of smile, with floppy hair and endless breathless enthusiasm. He was always stretching, always reaching, and would lay a hand on whoever was closest. Dick had explained once that it wasn't on purpose, but that he'd always been taught to find someone to catch him. 

Roy had been quiet when Dick had told him that his parents’ hands had still been clutching each other on the circus floor.

Roy didn't remember his parents, not his real ones - just fire.

Jason was different, alert and almost shy with a hooded bravado that he wore like a dare. He kept his hands to himself, hands in his pockets, and stiffened when someone touched him. He had blue black hair that wanted to be curly, but kept too short so that it just cow-licked up and away from his freckled skin. He had expressive brows and icy blue eyes, the kind that startled from behind thick dark lashes. 

Dick moved like laughing; Jason moved like rage.

Roy always felt like a rough hewn bit of cedar plank next to them, ruddy and freckled with thick stripes of pink scars and one crooked tooth that matched the mess of his nose. He'd given up being the pretty one, so he settled for being the fuckup. And when that almost killed him, he settled for being the loyal one.

Roy was an Arrow, chipped and fletched, waiting to be useful. Dick and Jason were Bats - they were meant to fly. He looked at the picture, looked at where Jason had been and where he'd disappeared. Finding Jason was why he was here. He'd always been able to find the target.

Tonight, Gotham was dimpling the low smog haze with buzzing technicolor, the neon smearing over the clouds and flickering off the puddles. It was a riot, not a painting; nothing ever really seemed soft in this city. He tugged the edges of his hawaiian shirt, smoothing down the front of his band t-shirt, and slapped the side of the van Dick was in. Roy was playing a civilian tonight, just a thin tissue paper body with breakable bones, no armor, no arrows, and no weapons except Dick's voice in his ear. 

Grant Park was a long rectangle of wild in the middle of Gotham. The oaks were older than the buildings, the few bits of humanity being slowly devoured back to the Green by creeping wisteria or the darker leather leaves of ivy. A park shouldn't hiss, but the trees at night rubbed against each other, beckoning over the edge of the encasing wall. Most people avoided the greenspace once the sun went down, packing up their picnics and families to slide back into the safety of modernity. All humans knew better than to stay in a forest that watched them in the dark. All humanity instinctively knew what could lurk in the dark, could watch them- hungry and yearning.

Gothamites were smart; they stayed out of Grant Park after dark. Roy put both hands on the cement ledge and heaved up. He wasn't from around here, after all.

"Heading in," he hummed, swinging his legs up and over before landing in a light crouch in the soft grass on the other side.

"Be careful."

"Aw, you worried about me?" Roy grinned, touching the comm in his ear and let himself look around. The gazebo to his right was leaning under the weight of the night blooming flowers, the scent sickly sweet on the breeze as the purple clusters moved softly side to side. The wind in Gotham chugged like it was out of breath, panting over the Atlantic and smacking into buildings.

"Roy."

" _Dick_."

"Less chatter." 

Roy stumbled at Batman’s gravelly bass voice flickering over the comms, pushing a spike of fear down his spine before blowing out a breath and saluting the air with an eye roll. It was easy to forget that he was always listening. He and Dick had gotten used to being left alone. "Sir, yes sir." 

Roy had been trained to not think too highly of the Bat, but the man's voice was still enough to send a chill down his spine.

"If that pompous asshole would take even a moment of time to consider donating any of his wealth to charity instead of building toys to go punch people to exert some form of control-"

"Pass the cornbread, Roy?" Dinah had asked, voice mild as Oliver Queen had warmed into the age-old diatribe against Batman. Roy had picked up the basket, snagging two squares for himself in a quick palm before handing it to Mia who handed it to Connor who let Dinah take it from him as Ollie set down a bottle of Willamette Valley Pinot Noir and unscrewed the cap, leaning over the table to pour Dinah a glass. 

"It's unconscionable. A _billionaire_." Ollie had gestured wildly, somehow managing to keep the wine in the bottle as Connor ducked, shaking his head and smiling kindly at where Dinah handed him the bowl of vegetarian chili she'd separated out just for him. "It's morally reprehensible to have acquired that much wealth in a city filled with systemic and endemic pover-"

"Did you get Lian into that Montessori preschool?" Mia had asked, tucking her blonde ponytail into the neck of her shirt as she scooped the five alarm chili from the pot. She was young, fresh from the shelter Ollie had plucked her out of. Roy had been surprised to find out she wasn’t in high school yet. She had started looking her age the longer she stayed with them, smile getting brighter the more she allowed herself to relax. He’d warned her about the chili and she’d laughed, bowing up to the pot and cementing her spot in the family. She’d already been flushing, a glimmer of sweat prickling on her brow and top lip just from the spicy smell.

"Yeah," Roy had answered, grinning at where his daughter was assiduously spooning a clean red kidney bean into her mouth. She’d had a deep frown of concentration, focused and determined. Roy loved watching her eat. He loved the way she was hell bent on feeding herself with a spoon. He loved the way she would chew things with a look of utter betrayal, eyes horrified before moving to take another bite. He loved that she kept eating, kept working her way across the tray one bean at a time.

"Good."

"It's just." Ollie had fallen into the chair at the head of the table, stroking his goatee and closing his eyes. The charities in Star City were funded heavily by the Queen Grant Funding and a few trusts he'd set up. "If he'd just take even a higher tax, he could do more good as Bruce Wayne than he does as Batman."

"Yes dear. We know." Dinah had reached across the round table and covered Ollie's hand, thumb tucking lightly under the thick calloused knuckles. 

Roy agreed with Ollie most days, but he still remembered the way Jason had listened, face blank as he stared at the table set for the entire Arrows family. He'd listened and waited for Ollie to pause, carefully dropping a question into the sip of wine that accompanied the meals.

"Aren't you a billionaire, Mr. Queen?" Jason always ignored the blythe, "Just call me Ollie."

Ollie had choked, flushing red under the golden tan, blonde hair bright at the table. The entire family was blond, Roy the strange recessive gene that had been taken in. "Depends on the day," he'd grumbled in response, eyes narrowing before he smirked at the kid and then at Roy. Ollie still asked about him.

"Do you wish he'd adopted you?" Jason had asked in the desert air after Roy had assumed he'd fallen asleep in his bedroll. The Arizona heat broke in the evenings, capitulating to the promise of the spectacular sunsets and letting the night sky ache into cool, like the world simply bent over to catch its breath while they watched.

"He said he almost did," Roy had answered, swallowing and lacing his fingers together. This was before Lian. This was before he'd known what it meant to be a Father, before everything in his life distilled to one simple heartbeat and the sound of her breath in soft sleepy huffs against his skin. He'd been able to hold her head in the palm of his hand; her small swaddled body tucked against his forearm as he watched her delicate face screw up in sleep. He'd known that his life was over. It was hers now. "But he said he didn't want to take the privilege from the man who had been my Dad. He said it wasn't right."

"Bruce wants to adopt me."

Roy had turned his head but Jason had just been a shadow in the dark. "You okay with that, Jaybird?"

Jason was quiet when he was thinking about something true. He’d let the weight of its importance linger and stretch, pulling carefully between them until Roy had rolled onto his side, propped up on an elbow to watch him speak to the night sky. It’d felt different, talking with Jason. 

"When my Dad hit me it didn't have a purpose. He was just mad. Or drunk." The kid had paused, thinking. "Or both." Jason had turned then, blinking at Roy in the dark. "When Bruce hits me, I'm allowed to hit back."

Roy hadn't known how to respond to that. 

Now, as he ducked under a branch and found a small worn path that skirted the edges of a tangled blackberry thicket, he still didn't. He just wasn't sure he ever wanted his kid to learn how to take a punch. He didn't want her in a world where she had to.

"Will you need my assistance?" Connor had asked when Roy had handed him two backpacks and a stuffed unicorn. Connor Hawke was rumpled and nearly monochromatic in the morning light, burnished skin and straight white teeth in a mild smile just after dawn. The teen was breathtaking and restrained with Ollie’s startling green eyes and shocking blonde hair. Connor was beautiful like a carefully crafted teacup, useful and waiting. Roy liked being around him, liked the quiet patient humor, liked the soft, carefully considered questions. Roy liked the wonder he managed to still carry into the world. 

"Not this time," he’d answered. "The Bats don't like people in their city."

Connor had nodded, mouth soft. "I would like to see it one day."

Roy had huffed a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder before handing the sleeping toddler over to him. Lian had stretched from his grasp into her uncle's like taffy, puddling against his broad chest. "Careful what you ask for, Bro. You’re close to Jay’s age, might end up with a Bat of your own and then you're fucked."

He liked that his brother still pinked slightly when he swore. Connor's space in Ollie’s guest house was simple, spartan, and calming, the front porch had two small cushions and a beautiful brass bowl. The interior smelled like warm rice, green tea, and incense. Lian would be safe here. Roy had to tell himself that so he could leave.

"Be safe."

"Always am."

Connor had closed the door, a small smile warming his reply. " _Liar_."

Roy knew he was being followed by the time he passed the rock ledge that preceded the elevation drop into the feral heart of the Grant Park. He caught sight of a pale hand on a tree trunk, not much larger than Lian's, and steeled himself to keep moving. A branch snapped, setting his nerves crawling, clamoring at him to turn around and face the eyes in the dark.

"Go away," a small voice whispered from a low bough that shook as the body scampered away, heavier than any squirrel could be.

"Not welcome," came another hiss, this time from a tangle of wild hostas, large green leaves variegated by the moonlight that filtered from above. 

"Just need to see Doctor Isley," he told the watchers, pitching his voice to carry and holding his hands up and palm out - the universal show of being non-threatening.

"G'way. Don't want."

A small child waited for him as he rounded the corner. She tilted her head at him, dark-skinned with feral dark eyes under the tangled afro that haloed her heart-shaped face. She was barefoot and skinny, glaring up at him. "Don't want you here."

He swallowed as the bushes rattled and another kid tumbled out, crouching to glare at him before stretching to stand at the little girl's right hand side. The boy was sullen with deep set dark eyes and a shank of black hair. He had a cut in his brow and a chipped front tooth. "Maybe he don't speak English? Tu hablas español?"

A third child dropped from the tree beside him, careful as a cat, before trotting closer to pull the hem of his hawaiaan shirt and rub it carefully between her fingers. She had matted blonde hair that was tucked up with a bit of twig. "You stupid?"

Roy let his thumb brush the comm as he kept his hands up. "What is this, fucking Neverland?"

All three kids stared at him, mouths open before they drew back, huddling together as two more darted out of the foliage. "He said a bad word."

"No parents to tell us we can't."

"He's-"

"Just need to talk to the Green Lady, kiddos," Roy reminded, wetting his lips and tilting his head. The small cluster of dirty feral children seemed to grow, grabbing teens and toddlers from the shadows.

"Pamela has a soft spot for kids," Dick said over the secure comm line. "She... she takes better care than the places they came from, so they stay until the foster system has room. If we can uproot them."

Roy wanted to ask how long that was when a teenager slipped out of the shadows, palming the top of the children's heads one at a time before looking at Roy warily. "She doesn't want visitors." The girl had red hair like him, freckles, and Roy knew they'd be on her eyelids and her lips like they were on his. Her pale lashes made her look wide-eyed like a frog in the dark. "She's... busy."

"Friend of mine walked in here a week ago," Roy said, letting his hands down slowly before hunkering down, one knee in the dirt. The denim went damp and cool, the earth dark and loamy under the blanket of grass at the edge of the thin-packed track. "Didn't walk out."

"Our friend now," the first little girl said, chin defiant. He watched the little black haired boy with the Puerto Rican accent tuck his hand into hers, their fingers tangling. 

"The green gets everything in the end," the boy said, voice hard. The redheaded teen smiled, stroking a light hand over his hair, absently detangling a bit of brush and flicking it to the side.

"Gotham will return to the Earth," she said, voice that same strange sing-song Roy had heard before from the deeply religious. "Removed for root and branch."

" _Eden_ ," the cluster of children breathed, reverent and faithful as only children can be.

"That... that doesn't sound good," Dick muttered in his ear, comm clicking off but not before Roy heard the roll of a van door and the brash noise of the city. It reminded him of how oddly still the park was, the noise far away.

"No shit," Roy swallowed. Dick didn't answer.

The children clustered together, reaching around each other to tangle grimy fingers, dark dirt thick under their nails. They pulled into a tight little group, whispering the word to each other before - as one - they all turned, focused on a spot just over the hill like a dog hearing a whistle echo over the horizon. The youngest, heartbreakingly thin and barely older than his daughter, popped a thumb into his mouth and curled two fingers over his nose. He had soft brown eyes, heavily lashed and curious. Roy couldn't help giving the kid a small waggly-fingered wave before the older girl made a gruff noise and darted into the thicket, pale bare feet nimble. The children followed, the younger ones more careful, before the youngest boy simply cocked his head, his chestnut-colored hair cut into rough tufts around where his ears stuck out. 

"You want to come with me, kiddo?" Roy couldn't help but ask, holding out a hopeful hand.

"She's not here." The kid sniffed, rubbing his face against the back of his forearm in a slow slide. Lian did that with hers before she'd exhale loudly into sleep right in the middle of the floor. Roy bit back the urge to walk over and haul the kid up, waiting. "She's fixing the mess." He made a face, small mouth a flat line before his nostrils flared and he held out the hand that had just been in his mouth. "Up."

Roy crossed the space in two steps, catching the kid by the ribs and hefting him up against his hip. The kid curled a hand into the back of his hair, rubbing at the edge of his haircut before tugging curiously at where it was longer and caught back in a messy half bun. Roy held him easily; the kid weighed less than nothing, skinny knees, and bare feet. The boy dropped his head onto Roy's shoulder and popped his thumb back into his mouth, still curling the strands of Roy's hair over his fingers.

"This way?" Roy pointed and the boy nodded. "Okay."

Roy took a half step forward along the path the way the boy had pointed before coming to a complete stop. He could feel the boy’s ribs under his fingers; he could feel them shift as he breathed. The kid smelled rank, fetid and warm under a layer of something mineral. Roy tried not to think about it before turning to tuck the kid's head under his chin and start along the path again. He was walking in the dark, hearing the rustle of the children on the sides. They followed him for a while before wandering off only to circle back. He made it down the hill onto the plain that was cut by a small creek that would find its way into the sewers and across to the river. The boy was snuffling, almost a snore against his skin and Roy recognized the smell now. The kid smelled like sewers after a hot rain.

The creek meandered to the cement inflow pipe mouth, the metal fencing littered with rotting leaves and rusted out enough to have holes that were big enough to slip through. The air was warm, the salt stench of an estuary. The kid smelled like the tunnel and Roy knew how the children moved safely through the city. 

Roy wanted to push the kid into a bubble bath and a bag of vitamins. He was pretty sure the kid was infested, could feel the hop of fleas onto his skin, but he didn't put him down, reaching instead with his free hand to grip the top lip of the cement and ease carefully up and through the rusting hole in the metal grating. His boots splashed into the water, socks wet as the drainage seeped through the laces. He looked back out towards the park, the green inviting in the moonlight in comparison with the warm rotting dark he was about to splash through blindly.

"God damnit, Jaybird. The shit I fucking do-"

"Bad word," the kid mumbled, tugging at Roy's hair and he sighed, rubbing the bony knobs of spine, and started walking.

Roy left the safety of the park behind, pushing deeper into the tunnel. The dark closed in, folding him into it like it would tell him a bedtime story before smothering him in his sleep. It pressed in until the dark was complete, terrifying and overwhelming as Roy kept his breathing even. He couldn't tell the difference between his eyes opened or closed, feeling vertiginous and off balance as he lifted his hand out from his side to touch two fingers to the slime covered curve of the cement pipe. He let his fingers trace through the muck, the boy's meager weight reassuring along with his soft thump of his feet flopping against Roy’s thighs. 

He kept moving forward, hoping he wasn't about to step into one of the subduction drops and drown.

He kept moving forward, hoping.

In the dark, time stretched out, thinning and going watery as he lost track of distance, of time, of reality. He thought about the way Dick had stretched awake, blinking widely and disoriented for a moment before smiling up at him. He thought about how he'd looked his age, barely past nineteen and determined to be an adult. Roy was the dad of a toddler and had quit drinking - sober before he'd been old enough to buy his own beer. He thought about the way Jason had smiled at him, quirking an eyebrow and tucking a cheap grape lollipop - the kind banks gave children - into his mouth after Roy bought the working girls hot chocolate from the taco cart off Elm. He thought about the sly wink as Jason had tucked his hands into his new jacket.

They'd bought him a leather jacket that day after Dick had left him with Roy to raid a record store, a thrift shop, and the garage to keep him occupied.

"Not a fuckin' kid, Dickhead." Jason had turned, pointing at Roy with his whole hand, "No offense, Roy," before turning back to where Dick had his arms crossed over his chest. "Don't need a babysitter."

"None taken," Roy had grinned, arching a brow at Dick and mouthing _dickhead_ questioningly.

"I didn't invite you to the Tower to be Robin, Jay."

"What're we going to do? Bond? Braid each other’s hair? Maybe cuddle on the couch? Fucking spare me, Richboy. You're pawning me off. Whatever."

"In his defense, I _am_ the cool one."

"Did Kori tell you that?" Jason had asked, voice going mild like he was being careful of Roy's feelings.

"Donna, actually, but I don't argue with glorious alien princesses who could kill me with their thighs either," Roy had explained, nonplussed.

"Standing right here," Dick had interjected.

"They are impressive."

"I know right?"

" _Guys_." Dick had clapped his hands. "Still my girlfriend."

"Still have no idea how you managed that," Roy had muttered while Dick bit back a sly smile and tried visibly to focus. Roy was used to the way Dick would sling an arm around his shoulders and lean.

"I want you to have the chance to be a teenager, Jay.” Roy had tucked a quick peck to the side of Dick’s hair before shoving him off towards the younger Bat. Dick had followed a crack in the sidewalk like a tightrope to stand next to Jason. He’d ducked his head, running scarred fingers through his shaggy black hair, tugging the ends before exhaling and giving Jay that wide eyed earnest stare. “Not... not just his soldier."

"Maybe I like what I do?” Jason seemed to go sharper, shoulders pulling into tight lines as his jaw worked, his glower almost as powerful as Dick’s smile. “Think of that? Fuck, you are so fuckin' self involved. This isn't about _you_. You have your issues with B. Not my fuckin’ problem. Stop using me to get back at him and just talk-"

"... _And_ that's our cue," Roy had interjected, pushing up and corralling Jason with a quick arm to tug him out of reach and around the corner. He knew what it meant when Dick Grayson went still. He knew the nerve that had been hit. He knew that even Grayson had a breaking point.

It had taken two hours and a hotdog from a street vendor to get Jason Todd to start talking. It was only when they’d passed the used bookstore, the cases of battered paperbacks seeming to arch into Jason's touch like cats, did Roy realize that he hadn't wanted Jason to stop. The kid talked about poetry the way other people talked about sports. He’d been moving away from the modernists and into a ramble about Neruda when Roy had simply plucked the leather jacket from a rack and threw it at him.

"Going to need this," he'd told him as Jason twisted into it, the white racing stripes spreading from the stiff collar and over his shoulders to run down his arms. 

"I don't-"

"Every guy needs a leather jacket. It gives the girls something to huddle into."

Jason had frowned, staring at the tips of his sneakers before just shrugging and tucking his hands into the pockets. "If you say so."

"I am a paragon of good life advice."

"You can't even operate a condom, Harper. I don't think I'm taking life advice from you." Jason had sped up but he still had that jacket. He'd been wearing it in the surveillance footage. It was how Roy had identified him.

The tunnel came to a juncture, open air under his fingers, and Roy hummed, hearing it echo oddly before turning his head left to right, trying to see anything. He could feel the boy’s ribs expand, could count time by the pace of soft hot breaths where he’d tucked his head against Roy’s shoulder. The boy didn’t seem scared and it steadied Roy, strong for the small fingers clutching the collar of his shirt, the mess of his hair. He was probably imagining the faint green glow, eyes aching as they tried to focus, to find anything in the black. He went left, towards the faint glow, walking deeper into the tunnels and surprised when the glow brightened, throbbing lightly like it was tuning into his heartbeat. He lifted a hand, realized that he could see his fingers. The glow was real.

The walls were slippery with a green slime that pulsed in a slow rhythm. The slick green curved up to the top of the round tunnel and dripped down, forming sticky tendrils that smeared wet trails on his skin as he ducked down and through. The warm air was going thick, wet and limpid as he pushed onward into the glowing green. He could smell it now, that old forest smell of rot and detritus, of green and swamp, of pine and the sharp white of sap.

"Ivy? I know you're in here," he called, voice echoing and bouncing back to him like a question.

"Here?" came a voice, sibilant and sultry, an alto like the hiss of green wood on open flames, of the thump of fat rain on palm leaves. She was in the walls, in the ache of the green, and Roy's arm curled a little tighter around the kid half asleep in his arms. "Here? _Here_? Here... yes. You are far from home. You smell of a different kind of forest." 

Red eyes snapped open and he froze. Pamela Isley was ethereal, eyes glowing and leaving soft trails as she swayed closer, the deep color like the sweet hot center of a woman, like he could exhale and push his fingers into her. She radiated heat, a few tendrils leaning towards her, and he wanted. He _wanted_ , mouth dropping open slightly as he considered her. He knew she was warm and wet and molten; he knew how she would feel around him. She opened her mouth like a rose unfurling, pink tongue darting to leave slick as she held his gaze.

Red in nature meant warning, but Roy had always loved the electric feel of forbidden. 

"Hello, Doctor Isley," he managed, voice barely more than an awed whisper.

She slipped out of shadow, fingernails pricking into the one pocket on his shirt as she reached for him. She tiptoed her touch higher, fingers velvety as she traced his chin. He saw her glance at the boy asleep against his chest and then back to him, curious before the green promise held in the perfect symmetry of her face tilted into a smile. "You may speak."

"Looking for my friend. He came into your park and never came out."

"Many come. Many go."

 _Little high, little low_ , Roy's brain continued whimsically as he felt something slither across the floor and curl curiously around his ankle. He felt the sharp prick of thorns as something woody and flexible slipped under his pant leg. He fought the urge to kick it away for a long reckless breath, stilling as the plants explored. "Leather jacket, white stripes. Shitty attitude."

Pamela Isley pushed her nose against his jaw, her scent sweet like rot under something delicate and floral, heady like jasmine and wisteria, warm like cedar and fresh cut grass, slippery like the wet taste of sex. "Maybe he was broken. Maybe I found him. Maybe... he is _mine_ now." 

Roy bit the inside of his cheek to keep from turning against where her mouth was tucking the words into his skin. The thorny vine cut a long scratch into his shin before pulling back. "You can't keep him, Dr. Isley. He needs to come home."

“What is he to you? What is he that you would uproot him and pull him from me?” She pushed against him, soft and willing, and her mouth whispered against his lips. 

He closed his eyes and remembered the way Jason rolled onto his side that night in the desert, mouth going crooked before he’d smiled and thanked him. He thought about the way Jason had rubbed the folded seam of the leather jacket between his fingers, petting the buttery leather wonderingly when he didn’t think Roy was looking. He thought about Jason. He thought about Dick’s frantic breaths that night on the phone asking for help. He thought about the way Batman smiled sometimes now when Jason cracked a joke. 

He remembered the paperback copy of _The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath_ Jason had smacked into his chest, tapping two fingers against the spine and holding Roy’s gaze steadily. Roy had been proud of the sober year he’d clawed to, the celebratory coin in his pocket as Jason held his eyes. “I desire the things that will destroy me in the end,” Jason had quoted at him and Roy had wanted to push him against things. The thought had been fleeting. The thought had _burned_.

Ivy’s lips were moving closer to his ear. "Maybe he is _home_."

Roy could almost hear the sound of Jason laughing, a real one that wheezed slightly. He could almost hear the sound he made when he was doubled over, eyes closed, and shaking silently. He was sure the kid had snorted. Roy needed to hear that again. 

" _Please_ ," Roy managed, voice firm. "Let me talk to him?"

The boy in his arms yawned, pushing up on straight arms, small hands pressing against his collarbone, and turned to smile blearily at where Pamela Isley was blurred between monster and love, red hair blooming flowers that breathed and closed to sink into the tangle again. She watched him with those red eyes, face soft as she stroked a palm lovingly over the boy’s cheek, thumb gentle like some people would press a leaf between their palms to feel the structure, reverent and adoring.

"Eden," the boy whispered and Isley ducked to rub their noses together, a soft note of care before she peeled the boy from Roy's arms. She watched him and he felt weighed.

"You won't like what you find. Your kind never do." Behind her, a path bloomed, a carpet of small white flowers flickering to life that led deeper into the dark. "The green remembers your father. This is its only boon."

Roy watched the boy curl against her, head on her shoulder and watching him in the green glow. The wide brown eyes seemed black and his hair like mottled leaves. She curled around him, folding him close and smiled at Roy. It wasn't a kind smile, beautiful as a flytrap and just as predatory.

"You get one. The boy or the boy. Only one today, little Arrow." She stepped back, the green vines curling to slither around her, letting her ease to sitting before closing her back into the dark. "Choose wisely."

The glow dimmed.

"Fuck." It echoed in the tight space, taunting him before the walls started rustling like the entire expanse of plants in Gotham was laughing at him. He looked at the dark where Ivy had curled away before turning and sprinting along the trail of white, the pretty delicate flowers swaying away from his boots and then back as he ran. 

The path curved and took a sharp right, exploding out of another drain pipe entrance and he stumbled out into the moonlight, gasping around a breath of air that tasted dry and cool before looking around wildly. The white flowers waved at him, fluttering like ripples on water to urge him across what looked like a small open grassy clearing edged with old oak and maples. He saw the edge of a man-made hill, noting the red flashing lights spaced along the top. Further, there were massive machines for construction hulking next to the thick tangle of trees. He was in a different park, turning in a slow circle trying to remember where he was, trying to find something to anchor him to Gotham. 

He wished he didn’t see what looked like a leather jacket with racing stripes in a pile on the ground near the base of the hill.

"Roy?! Roy, come in." The comm crackled to life and Roy hissed at the volume, the panicked sound of Dick Grayson yelling over the sound of wind. 

"Here. I'm here." He wasn’t sure where _here_ was, yet.

"Damnit, Roy. What the hell happened?"

"Found Ivy. Comms must have cut out. I was underground I think." He looked around, trying to follow the lure of the white carpet of flowers that seemed to trill as he walked the edge, half jogging as he hurried toward the jacket. "I think... I think I'm at the reservoir?"

"Robert’s Park. How? That's miles away. How the-"

"Bro. Later. Get here. I don’t care what Ivy says.” A breeze licked over the edge of the reservoir, pulling the smell of engine grease and smoke with it. “I think he's hurt. She made it sound like something happened."

"On my way." Sometimes, when he was scared, Dick sounded like the Bat. 

Roy nodded and then tripped over something soft and heavy, crashing hard on his shoulder before rolling with the impact. "Fuck."

A dead woman watched him with milky blue eyes, mouth fixed in an endless scream that hemorrhaged plants. The grass was already curling over her, covering her like a loose blanket and Roy could see where she'd tried to claw her way out of it. She had pretty reddish brown hair and thick lashes. She'd been beautiful once, full lipped with high cheekbones. In death, she looked like terror and pain. 

"Sheila Haywood," Dick had explained, pulling out a picture of a beautiful woman in a doctor's coat. She hadn't been a dainty woman, thickly curved with full lips and startling blue eyes under luxurious lashes. She’d had angry eyebrows, arching over a sultry smile. "She's been working overseas since she lost her license. She's been working with a few groups in Africa, but never stays in one place too long. She came to the states recently, the entire trip funded by an anonymous source I haven't been able to track down yet, but she's here."

"Okay?" Roy had been worshipping a cup of coffee, annoyed at the time at the mild jetlag that always caught up with him when he crossed the continent into Gotham. 

"She's Jason's mom."

"Jason's mom OD'd in Crime Alley when he was eleven."

Dick had blinked, surprised, before barrelling forward. "Catherine Todd wasn't his real mom. He found her. I think he went to meet her in the park."

"And you're just telling me this, now?" Roy had wanted to set the mug down angrily, but he needed his caffeine. He’d known his priorities and whatever got him to Jason first would win out.

"I think... I think she's been working with a terrorist group." Dick had bit into an Eggo waffle, plowing through his third in quick bites as he spoke. "I think... we think it's funded by the Joker."

"Where's Bruce?" Roy had known better than to fuck with this particular brand of Gotham crazy alone.

"He's following a lead to track down the clown. You and me? We’re following Jason’s lead. We're going to the park. I can’t go in right now after... well.” He’d heard about the rumble of an explosion in her park; heard about how angry she had been even across the country. He’d only noticed it because he kept tabs on Dick’s hometown. The headline buried in the Star City news behind a possible trafficking ring and some ecoterrorist activity. “Roy, I need you to do what I can’t. I need you to talk to Ivy."

“Are you fucking insane?”

“She’s shut everyone out of the parks. No capes.” Dick had chewed on his bottom lip before reaching over to cover Roy’s hands in his own, thumb tapping a nervous tattoo against the freckles there. “You’ll need to be in civvies.”

“This is the stupidest plan you’ve ever had,” Roy had told him, glowering at the now empty mug.

“So you’ll do it?” Dick Grayson had defined earnest in the way he had sagged towards Roy, hand tapping lightly against the countertop. His pleading had hurt when he didn’t use touch. It meant he’d pulled it inside. It had meant he was closing off.

“Of course.” Grayson had touched the back of his wrist in thanks and Roy had hummed and held out his coffee to be refilled.

Now, he was scrambling away from a body, swallowing a startled yell when he touched the gummy feel of wet leather, sure for a moment it was another body before pulling himself together. Jason’s jacket was on the ground, half covered in a blanket of warm wet moss that seemed to purr under his palm.

"Oh fuck," Roy whispered, managing to tear his eyes from the coat and back to the woman’s body, listening to the flickering noise of the ground swelling to throb around her. It reminded him of a snake forcing its mouth around a rat. The carpet of flowers fluttered in the breeze and now that he was moving he could smell something flat and metallic, like hot iron or smoke seeping through dirt. "Dick. I think we're going to need medical."

"Roy, did you--?"

"Sheila Haywood is dead and it smells like...fire." Roy blinked, swallowing down panic as he gritted his teeth and sprinted along the petal path towards a broken metal door set into the side of the reservoir. It was bowed outward, wedged slightly open despite the bent rods that should have locked it into the ancient fallout bunkers built into the edges of the reservoir. A hold over from the Cold War in thick cement and inches of interlocking steel. "Oh no. The explos-"

He stopped being careful, feet kicking up broken flower heads and skidded wildly on the wet grass to start pushing at the warped metal door. He felt his back twist up, arms straining as he struggled with the massive blast door. " _Jay_!"

His voice echoed and he moved, shifting to push and heave at the weight, screaming Jay's name into the cold smoke scented dark. He grimaced, boots slipping in the muck next to the door until he wedged and caught a hold. The cement was covered in black soot, covered in the remnants of a tight held explosion. Roy screamed, deep and low as he forced the door open, muscles overwhelmed and thighs lancing white hot as it creaked and then clattered to slap into the earthen walls as its weight slammed it open. The hallway was black, crisp and choking and he could taste the memory of fire. 

"Jason!" It echoed and limped into the dark before silence. 

Roy's knees gave, thighs shaking from the sudden loss of adrenaline, overtaxed and throbbing. He could feel his calves knotting, cramping as he reached to grab the door, finally noticing the scratch marks clawed into the window, the desperate gouges around the lock, the way the lock itself seemed battered and gaping.

The silence reigned and Roy knew he was too late. They were all too late.

He heard a soft scuff behind him and didn't turn. "Dick. Don't loo-"

"Do not stand beside my grave and weep," a low voice murmured, gentle and patient as the groan of trees in the wind, the throb of a deep wooden drum, the terror of a landslide. It hazed over him, curling something like panic along his spine. "I am not there."

Robinson Park was home to several hundred specialized species of tree. Each had been neatly labeled at one time for the casual observer. Gotham was disinclined to order, preferring to swallow the labels with swollen bark, the tangle of Sumac and Sycamore scrambling into Oak and Apple and Maple. He could point to a few Hemlocks, out of place darker smears of what could be green in the dark. The park had shifted from a garden to the forest of fables, clawed and messy with little regard for the innocents it swallowed. Roy turned, scanning the shifting shadows of the treeline, scanning for something that was different, a shape too organic to fit with the puzzle of limpid shadows. The forest didn’t care, just continued to shiver in the breeze and creek. Roy turned his head, breath caught and stared at where something seemed to melt out of the shadows. Terror slipped down his spine, spreading watery under his skin until his fingers felt numb, breath moving shallow as he tried to pick out where the voice had come from, skimming past the creature until it opened glowing green eyes.

It slipped forward, hand up on a branch as it cocked that green gaze at him. Jason Todd was watching him, skin mottled green like lichen as he wove back and forth, curious as the thorn covered vine that had drawn blood. "I do not sleep."

The boy was perfect, stunning in velvety soft skin and eyes that promised more than Roy understood, the same hypnotic gaze as Ivy, the same blank inhuman stare. "I _knew_ you."

"Jay?" 

The boy's head cocked, a slow sinuous movement like the tilt of a sunflower in time lapse, eyes unblinking as he sank into the crouch, bare feet and fingers pushed into damp earth. He touched his tongue to the back of his teeth, leaning forward and Roy could smell him, verdant and lush, a simple wet green and the copper of blood. "Once. Maybe." He frowned and it was an event, a line curling between his brows - still angry - and then peeling back from his teeth as he padded forward, letting go of the forest to reach and touch Roy's hair. "More now."

The ground seemed to shift, pushing up under Roy and then spilling over his fingers, his hands, and Roy flinched back, the soft tentative touch of plant roots snapping and clinging to him as he pulled back. "Jaybird? Come on, man. What did she do to you?"

The Jason shaped thing in front of him snarled like snapping branches and pushed closer, the heat of him wet and damp against Roy's skin. It was like breathing in a greenhouse, comforting and alien all at once. Up close he was even more beautiful, dark hair curling and moving in a breeze that didn't exist, purified by the green to sharp lines and broad shoulders, powerful hands, and that unfurling curl of a dimple at the edge of his smile. He seemed like something dangerous. He seemed like something wicked, the temptation of the forked path made real.

"She brought me back. It... it hurt?" He sniffed and the flicker of tongue was electric, snapping Roy's eyes down and then back up as the faint glowing green gaze watched him under thick lashes. " _She_ came for me. No one else did."

"I'm here."

"Too late." Jason's voice sounded like it was layered on top of itself, multiplied like every cell in his body was speaking and Roy felt the vibrations like a touch, swallowing as he stayed still and let the boy explore him with those absent touches, the twist of curious fledgling green that tickled up his arm. "Always too late." The boy's mouth moved against his ear and Roy knew the comm was picking up the sounds. "I remember dying. I remember knowing _he_ didn't come. He _should have come_."

When Dick actually landed in the park, the sound of his feet a steady rhythm as he ran, Roy wondered briefly how he could have ever thought this creature had been Dick. This thing was silence and the slow creep of jungle vines and the delicate touch of dandelion fluff on the ground. Dick was screaming Jason's name, and Roy watched Jason stiffen, turn with his whole body, and lift a hand.

The grass simply picked up its hemline and snapped, tripping Dick where he was running and rolled to curl around him and tighten. 

"Not you." He swivelled, the green of his eyes going dark and then throbbing a dangerous warning red, the burn of it leaving trails in the dark as he stared up at the lip of the reservoir as the long pointed shadow of the Bat flickered in the red lights that blinked along the top of the reservoir. " _Not you_." 

Jason Todd looked at him from behind a forest, behind a wall of something ancient and green, and Roy exhaled, a slight tremor of hope helpless in his skin. The boy was there. Somewhere.

"Leave now." Jason stood, stretching lightly as he looked up at where Bruce was standing, mouth curled into rage. “You’re too late.” He slipped backwards, sliding into the shadowed boughs, toes tucking into the loamy earth. It took Roy a moment to realize Jason’s bare feet had started sinking into the earth. 

One breath Jason was there, the next he'd sunk lightly into the ground, swallowed by the tickle of grass. Roy scrambled towards where Dick was gasping, choking for breath and was met by Bruce's strong hands as they clawed him out of the dirt. Roy wasn't sure he could handle exhuming two people today. Bruce caught Dick when he scrambled, pulling him close and letting him cling as he cried. 

This wasn't his place. This wasn't his family. Roy stared at the door, at the disappointment clawed into it. He stared at the ground and the soft slippery grass that seemed alive. He sat down, grief shoving him to the ground by his shoulders and tucking tight into his lungs. 

"You promised, Ivy." The Park was silent under Dick's soft angry noises and the low murmur of Bruce's voice. The green didn't answer.

Roy knew when he wasn’t wanted anymore. He could always feel it, the way his need and the disinterest would scratch together in his skin. It was like a flash of awareness, pushing him to move before the words could be said. Dick’s breathing was broken, hissing through clenched teeth as his friend pushed up and started pacing, moving in sharp quick steps to prowl along the space in front of the door. He heard the swallowed scream of rage before the clamor of metal on cement as Dick started to sink into his blackness. Dick had stopped moving. Roy knew what that meant.

“Leave us,” Batman’s voice was low like a warning, and Roy rolled his eyes.

“Already going.” Roy was sitting on the grass in damp jeans, the slime of the tunnels coating his boots, and the aching emptiness of his own uselessness. He didn’t say goodbye; he didn't need it to be ignored. Rocking to his feet, he found his balance with a palm to the tree nearby and looked out over the Park.

The construction was almost finished. Robinson Park would heal, the long angry scar of tire marks filling with water. The daisy chain trail of pale white flowers he’d followed was folding up and curling away, dipping and sinking back into the dirt, into the green, like breath in winter fading into the night sky. The season would turn to rain; it would wash away all that was left of this moment. The summer rain would linger in muggy wisps between the flat black asphalt and the low hanging gray. 

Roy couldn’t stay that long.

“I can’t,” Dick had gasped the next morning, knuckles white before turning wild blue eyes up at him. Dick had looked lost. “I can’t do this. I can’t be--”

“Okay, take the time. You know I’m her--” Roy had shrugged, sniffing and letting Dick interrupt to touch their foreheads together over the table at the diner. The window pebbled with rain and made the world outside a muddled patina of Gotham grays. Roy missed the Pacific green. He missed the lichen and the moss that clung to the wood siding of Ollie’s house. He missed the low drizzle and the way sometimes the day would crack perfectly in half, sunshine and joy with the mountain poking a white cap to touch the clouds. He wanted to listen to his daughter sing along to the radio, making up words as he steered to the grocery store.

He had to go home.

“I have to go, Jaybird.” He dropped a soft pack of cheap menthols and a lighter on top of a paperback copy of _House on Mango Street_ onto the bench just inside the entrance to Robinson Park. He’d had to hop the gate and avoid the languid security detail that fanned themselves around the construction equipment. “You’ll like this one. You’ll have to tell me about it when I come back.” He paused, frowning at the grass. “I’ll come back.”

The Park didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure why he thought it would. He was starting to think he’d imagined it, imagined the hot green scent and the way Jason Todd had looked luminous in the dark. 

Roy turned, snarling at the disappointment breaking his chest open, and stopped, startled. A small boy was watching him. The boy’s face was smeared with dirt. He was filthy in the full light of day, t-shirt stained and brown over the faded cartoon turtle and feet caked in mud. He had a leaf in his soft russet-colored hair and two fingers curled over the bridge of his small nose, thumb tucked into his mouth as he watched Roy with wide brown eyes. The kid lifted the hand not in his mouth, waiting.

"Oh come on. _Fuck you_ , Ivy." He opened his arms and the boy launched himself at him, hauling up and plastering against Roy's side to tuck against his neck. "Heya, little."

"He said you made the right choice."

**Author's Note:**

> comments are hoarded and rolled around in like drunken kisses from half forgotten lovers. Also, I may be considering doing a series of these batboys gone rogue.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The wind doth blow today, my love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29456913) by [macabrekawaii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabrekawaii/pseuds/macabrekawaii)




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